It's A Scourge Life
by antiassasinguy
Summary: Running an army of Undead is more taxing than one would think; as Arthas works through weight problems and Kel’Thuzad goofs off in every way imaginable.
1. Episode 01:Dancers and Inappropriateness

Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft. World of Warcraft and is expansions are a registered trademark of Blizzard Entertainment

Summary: Running an army of Undead is more taxing than one would think as Arthas works through weight problems and Kel'Thuzad goofs off in every way imaginable.

**It's A Scourge Life**

**Episode 01: Of Dancers and Inappropriateness**

"My King."

The former Prince of Lordaeron, now the Commander-in-Chief to the armies of the Undead turned his great frame to face one of his trusted advisors, a skeletal form taller than he was a few times over. Glowing hollow sockets in his helm met that of the icily-glowing form of the Necromancer, ready to hear him speak. The blade of Frostmourne, the Accursed Sword dimly glowed blue as he took a step towards his Lieutenant.

"Yes, Lich?" he spoke.

Kel'Thuzad was one of Arthas' most powerful and knowledgeable confidants. His information, his command of the army assigned were quite possibly only second to his own, a testament to the scale of absolute power that which he belonged to. The Lich was quite possibly the only person Arthas would have trusted to assist him in leading the Scourge to total victory.

That is, if he wasn't such a headache most of the time.

"I've decided to retire and become a fisherman."

Arthas felt the headache coming on swiftly. This was going to be another one of those days.

"Kel, no." he said in a final tone, hoping his Second-In-Command would take the hint and drop the matter altogether.

Wishful thinking was never his strong point.

"Oh yes, and you can't stop me." Kel'Thuzad huffed in a way only a ten year-old possibly would on the event of not receiving their toy, crossing his arms over his chest as Arthas' blue orbs felt the sheer exasperation at his idiotic Second-In-Command's request.

If threat was the only way to end this, then…

"Kel, I'm the bloody Lich King." He growled, feeling the twitch strongly coming on, "I can do anything I want to you in any way possible."

The Necromancer look affronted.

"Beg your pardon sir, but I just don't swing that way." He shook his head.

The twitch worsened. Arthas turned his back to Kel'Thuzad, feeling the urge to just punch the idiot rise up rather quickly in his gut.

"Oh shut up." He said in exasperation, giving a look to Frostmourne before looking back out onto the balcony, "What's with you and this stupid idea, anyway?"

"It's not stupid." Kel'Thuzad said in a rather defensive tone, "It's a perfectly logical plan to ensure my survival in the face of getting another mace to my crotch, thank you very much." The former Necromancer huffed as if this was a logical decision, meeting his superior's stare with an unerring gaze of his own, adamant on not backing down from his incredulous newfound obsession.

Arthas fought back a sigh, careful that his image not be tarnished by such a petty discussion. Competent and powerful Kel'Thuzad may have been, but no way in the Nether was he going to tolerate this idiot's ridiculous and nonsensical rambling any longer.

"Kel, you're dead. You can't feel shit." He said in a final tone.

"Oh rub it in, why don't you?"

"I'd rather not, thank you very much." Arthas shot a gay comment right back, hoping to end the conversation as soon as he could. If he gave the rambling Lich anymore quarter he'd be weeping on the floors. "Now get back to - !"

He was cut off, however, by a boneguard grunt who had just rushed into the throne room and… fallen to pieces.

Arthas counted backwards from ten.

"For goodness' sakes, pick yourself up, man!" he barked forcefully.

The head rolled right to his feet.

"Sire!" the skull said in a very squaeaky voice, "The Alliance have broken through the Citadel walls!"

Arthas swore. Kel'Thuzad covered his ears.

"The Commanders?" he inquired.

"All dead sir." it replied.

Kel'Thuzad laughed heartily. The skull and Arthas looked at him incredulously, to which the skeletal form sighed and un-crossed his arms.

"Oh you two have no sense of humor."

Arthas really rolled his eyes then.

"Oh do shut up."

/-/-/-/-/-/-/

At the aforementioned broken wall, the Alliance were ready to push against the breach. However, they had encountered a minor setback in the form of an almost-deaf Wing Commander of a Draenei. To which the Squadron Leader was trying to communicate the fact that they had _successfully_ broken through the first layer of defences and was not currently trying to cook some delicious clefthoof thigh meat at a barbecue.

To no avail, of course.

"OKAY, NOW THAT WE'RE INSIDE WE CAN LOOK FOR THE _LICH KING_!"

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?"

"I SAID WE CAN NOW LOOK FOR THE _LICH KING_!"

"HUH? CAN'T HEAR YOU, MATE!"

"I SAID - !"

The ground rumbled, and all fell silent. The cold aura of death swept across the ground. Twelve of the Squadron members were rooted to their positions as they heard the ominous clanking of ancient armor. The Squadron Leader turned his head to the source of the echo down the hall (That they had just broken through), hoping to Hell that this wasn't going to end up with them as grounded paste on the walls of Icecrown Citadel. He gulped slowly, fixing his eyes on the dark corridor.

Which suddenly erupted in blue flames.

It was Arthas.

With quite possibly all of the Undead at his command behind him, poised to strike. Blades, hammers, staves were all drawn, ready to make minced meat out of the Alliance Squadron for even _thinking _of desecrating the sanctity of the Lich King's proud fortress. The ruler of the Scourge himself took a step forward, radiating absolute power and no room for mercy.

"_Tremble_ before the might of the Lich – OOF!"

He fell flat on his face, raising several incredulous blinks from the invading force (And one snigger from a very amused Cultist, who was in the front row so he could get a full show).

The Lich King, Arthas, turned his head around, to see that one of his more heavily-plated soldiers, a Boneguard Lieutenant, had his foot placed directly on the edge of his cloak's cloth. He glared balefully, angered at such an insulting action. From one of his own, no less!

Arthas once again counted backwards from ten before speaking. Losing temper wasn't good for morale, after all.

"Lieutenant," he began calmly.

"Yes, sire?" came the gravelly voice of a reply.

"Get your foot off my cloak."

"My foot's not on your cloak."

"Yes it is, now get it off."

"Prove my foot's on your cloak."

"It is. Look." He nodded to the scene of the crime.

The response was even more unbelievable.

"I'm not looking."

"Why the Hell not?"

"I didn't vote for you, you can't order me around!"

"I'm the bloody Lich King!" he barked.

"And I'm a male model; we can't all have our dreams come true!" the Lieutenant sniffed.

"You're being unreasonable. Now move your foot!" he commanded.

There was a moment of silence, before…

"Say please."

You could hear a pin drop.

"_What_?"

"You heard me; say please."

"I DON'T HAVE TO SAY PLEASE!"

The Lieutenant only looked at him as though he was a child.

"Yes you do. It's polite to say please."

Arthas swore under his breath.

"Fine," he gritted his teeth, noting to himself that once the day was over he was going to have a nice long talk with Kel'Thuzad about his _absolutely_ absolute chain of command, "_Please_ remove your foot from my cloak, Lieutenant."

"But my foot's not on your cloak."

Arthas almost wept.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/

The Lich King groaned loudly for probably the first time in ages as he plopped himself unceremoniously on his throne, resting his head against the comfortably cool stone and metal. The defence of Icecrown Citadel had been a technical success, as during his banter with that idiot of a Lieutenant, the Squadron had turned on their heel and run away, probably never to bother him again. The wall was being fixed as well, as Kel'Thuzad had decided to do something competent for the day and oversee that there were no slackers in the rebuilding of the broken barricade.

Some days, he wondered just why the bloody Hell things just wouldn't go right.

There was a knock on his chamber's doors.

"Enter," he tried to use his most ominous voice, but all that bantering had a negative effect on him, so the most he could manage was a tired threatening one.

Upon seeing who had come in, however, he decided it would have been better to pretend he wasn't home.

Because one of his best Necromancers had barged in, clad in leotard and head band, long beard covered in a mix of green slime and the man's own glistening sweat and doing pirouettes as he came right before him in a perverted, vile and twisted presentation of himself.

"_Are we ready to shed that fat_?" came Heigan's highly affected voice.

He groaned.

_Sometimes, I wish I didn't pull you out_, he thought, looking to the sword by his side.

Frostmourne only twinkled mischievously.

**To Be Continued**

A/N: Episode 1, done.


	2. Episode 02: Administrative Problems

Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft. World of Warcraft and is expansions are a registered trademark of Blizzard Entertainment

Summary: Running an army of Undead is more taxing than one would think as Arthas works through weight problems and Kel'Thuzad goofs off in every way imaginable.

**It's A Scourge Life**

**Episode 02: Administrative Problems**

The Lich King rested against his throne, contemplating his next move, not at all bothered about his surroundings. Being King, Arthas was rather tied up in affairs, mostly management of the Undead Scourge and the gross incompetence those under his chain of command brought him. Now was a time for rest, and during his spare time, Arthas did not wish to be disturbed in his thoughts. However, like all of his commands, those that were beneath him didn't take him particularly seriously.

Which explained why Heigan was in a leotard doing cartwheels around the throne room, much to his annoyance.

"Up and at 'em, lazybum!" the bearded Necromancer called out cheerfully, intent on removing the Lich King from his sturdy iced-metal chair and onto his exercise routine.

Arthas glared balefully, his visage scrunching menacingly underneath his helm.

"Heigan, I'm not moving from this throne." He said, hoping that he got the message through to the thick skull of his personal trainer.

Heigan only put his hands on his hips. No, the message had, unfortunately, not gone through the thick skull of his personal trainer. Arthas' mind wondered for an instant: if his words didn't perhaps Frostmourne would. Been a while since he actually killed something.

"Not if you want to stay fit!" came the indignant shrill. Arthas felt a headache coming along; he was used to the eccentricities of his Scourge, really, he had been their leader for the better part of six years. But sometimes, _sometimes _there always had to be someone to attempt at giving him a migraine, "Come on, follow me, Mr Flabby!"

Arthas tried to settle it without bloodshed, summoning all the patience he could muster, lest he lose quite possibly the only person that could be deemed physically fit within the Scourge.

"Heigan, when I hired you as my personal trainer, what were the specifics of the task that I presented you with?" He began.

"To help you lose weight!" Came the reply.

"Yes, and what did I say about my schedule?" he continued.

"That you were not to be disturbed during naps?"

Arthas nodded with a smile.

"Exactly."

Heigan's skull, once again, however, proved too thick for the implied message to be delivered to his brain.

"Well, staying asleep isn't going to lose all that flab, mister!"

Arthas rose menacingly.

"OUT! OUT! OUT!" he came stomping towards his Necromancer, who in turn bolted, lest he face the wrath of one of the most powerful beings in Azeroth, running out the saronite doors and tossing Arthas a final look: a mixture of disappointment, fear, indignancy and a dash of incredulousness.

"Gee, grou-chee!" was the final call, to which Arthas let out a growl, seething with frustration.

He stomped back to his throne and plopped down on it unceremoniously, letting the jagged tip of Frostmourne slot into the ground beside him, resting his back and breathing evenly again. The day was beginning to look very troublesome: Heigan had come in with yet another exercise routine. What next?

Arthas' question was answered by the creaking of metal doors, and the entrance of his not-so-reliable Second In Command coming in with an incredulous look of his own, looking to the corridor, to Arthas, then right back to the corridor before finally resting on his King's still form.

"Was that Heigan cursing under his breath?" he inquired, curious.

Arthas responded with a growl before he answered the question.

"Yes. He's lucky he's still walking."

Kel'Thuzad looked confusedly to the corridor, then back to his King again, before shaking his head, shutting the large doors and coming up to Arthas, a file in his hands. Upon observation of the title (Monthly Evaluations) Arthas groaned inwardly. Ever since Kel'Thuzad and that blasted Razuvious seen the administrative duties, he had been subject to their boring and outright insanity-driven reports. He swore that the whispers of the Old Gods couldn't have made him crazier!

"My Lord," Kel'Thuzad began, much to Arthas' chagrin, "I have gone over the Vrykul evaluation reports." He plucked out one particular sheet of paper, handing it to the King, who took it with one hand, giving it a quick skim so that the darned affair could be over and done with, "They're much less stellar than you would wish them to be."

He tossed it back to Kel'Thuzad, praying to the Hells below that it would make the Lich walk away.

"Let Ymiron take care of it." He said in finality, shifting himself for a good napping position.

If Kel'Thuzad were the type to blink, he would have.

"I can't."

Arthas glared hotly.

"What do you mean you can't?!" he sneered, brandishing Frostmourne in what he hoped to be a show of authority, "Send a messenger or something and let me have my nap, for goodness' sakes!"

The Necromancer cleared his throat.

"Sire," Kel'Thuzad began slowly, "I _can't_ because he quit."

The silence was deafening.

"HE _WHAT_?!"

/-/-/-/-/

Ymiron was enjoying life.

Nice sun, cool weather, a choice board and an awesome beach with beautiful scantily-clad Vrykul women for the picking.

Quitting the Scourge was the best decision _ever_.

"Dude, that's like, a totally righteous wave right there, dude." A blonde well-chiseled and muscle-bound excuse of a Vrykul said in a whisper of awe, watching a wave crash against the rocks of their domain.

"Uhuh, awesome," Ymiron removed his shades, looking to the waves himself, bright yellow board shielding his tan against an over-cook, "Dude, I totally can't believe that I missed out on all these radical surfs, man, it's like, centuries."

The Vrykul gave him an incredulous look.

"Dude, centuries?"

"Centuries, dude."

They high-fived.

"Wicked awesome, man."

Ymiron smiled in content, moving to his side and reaching his hand towards the nearby table. He struggled slightly to reach for it, before turning a bit to his right, facing the blonde Vrykul.

"Pass me the reefer, dude?" he requested.

The male gave him a smile, complying with Ymiron's request. To which the former Scourge commander took a puff contently, feeling the weed start to effect him. He looked to the ocean: there was no ocean. It was a sea of watermelons. He looked to the blonde vrykul: there was no male vrykul, only a polar bear with a surfboard under an arm. He smiled absent-mindedly.

"Oh, yeah, that's the stuff." He sighed happily.

That is, until his ears met the voice of an all-too-familiar former employer of his.

"Ymiron."

Ymiron's eyes wandered to see the Lich King, clad in armor, boots sinking into the sand of the Fjord's beaches. It was a surprise: he hadn't expected him to come here so soon; he didn't even have the cabana set up!

"Hey, sup, it's my ol' boss Artie!" he motioned for a high-five.

"Totally righteous, man." The vrykul gave him one, causing the Lich King to develop a tick.

Arthas shook his head, getting straight to the point.

"You quit?" he frowned disapprovingly at Ymiron's state of dress: tropical trunks? How tacky.

"Yeah, decided there were funner things in life, than, ya know, killing people and ruling with an iron fist." He took another puff of weed, "Oh baby, _yeah_…"

"You can't quit." Arthas declared, studying himself to use force if needed be, "I won't let you quit."

Ymiron only smiled serenely, as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"Sorry, dude boss man, the surf is where I belong!" the King of the Vrykul returned, opening his arms wide, as if to embrace the sight before him.

His declaration caused many catcalls and whistles from the slowly-gathering crowd of beach-goers, all cheering for the Lich King's former servant, some pumping fists and some shouting his name.

"Woohoo, totally righteous, Mimi!" one female called out.

"Stick it to the man!" another one yelled.

Arthas counted backwards from twenty, feeling the migraine coming on very quickly.

"Be reasonable, Ymiron. This is _not_ where you belong." He reasoned, coldly stating the fact.

"Oh really, then where do I belong, dude boss man?" Ymiron crossed his arms.

"In your castle in the Fjord watching over the Vrykul with wisdom and brutality."

Ymiron actually looked thoughtful about it. After all, it was a pretty good life before. Kill, stomp, kill, angst over dead wife, get over dead wife by ogling that hot Sollowgrave chick…

"Do I get a pay raise if I come back?" he enquired, sounding genuinely honest.

Arthas hefted Frostmourne.

"No."

Ymiron whistled loudly.

"Well dude, then I got one answer for ya." He grinned widely, "Surf's up!"

Arthas had not time to react, as he suddenly felt many hands raising his armored form into the air, the cheer of many a laughing Vrykul below him, before being tossed high into the air and into the shallow end of the water, ending with a loud and wet splash. Frostmourne followed: the hilt banged onto his helm painfully, before going tip first into the muddy sand and water.

As Arthas cursed, his most powerful Lich came walking up to him clad in nothing but a speedo, his sipping what looked to be a coconut with a straw in it.

"That could have gone better." Kel'Thuzad pointed out.

Arthas seethed with anger.

"Where _were_ you?!" Arthas demanded.

"Over there chatting with that nice lady." He pointed out a partifularly pretty Vrykul specimen by the beach, who was bashfully waving at him as she sipped from her own coconut, "Quite the thing, isn't she?"

Arthas pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Kel'Thuzad, you positively _amaze_ me."

The Lich only grinned.

"Hey, when you got it…"

/-/-/-/-/

It was the end of another day.

"Ymiron quit and he isn't coming back until he's offered a pay rise." Arthas clunked wetly beside Kel'Thuzad, walking up the spire towards the throne room, intent on getting a good night's rest at the very least as the Lich went through the files, "Were we even paying him to begin with?"

"I suspect no. But the idiot's so delusional he probably thinks I give him a year-end winter veil bonus." Arthas sniffed, still tasting the salt at the tip of his tongue.

They paused in stride.

"You don't?"

"No, I don't."

There was an awkward silence for a moment, before Kel coughed into a fist, going over the reports once more.

"In any case, we have to find a replacement for Ymiron. No sense letting those Vrykul wonder about unchecked." He finished, arranging the sheets of paper in hand.

This time, only Arthas halted in step.

"Who are you and what have you done with Kel'Thuzad?" he felt for Frostmourne, ready to do battle if the impostor chose to take the aggressive way out.

He was greeted by an indignant huff and a cross of arms.

"What? Can't I be in a hardworking mood once in a while?"

"No. It's too disturbing. Go back to being lazy and stupid."

Kel'Thuzad looked appalled.

"I take offense to your insult."

"You're meant to."

"Meany."

"I intend to be."

"_MY KING_!"

And cue the Skeletal Messenger falling to pieces after running into his Master, the sound of dropping bones echoing throughout the spire. Arthas felt the urge to rub his temples again, and quite possibly the urge to stab something.

"For goodness' sake, Messenger, will you stop doing that?!"

"Sorry sir, just a little clumsy is all." Came the squeaky reply.

He sighed tiredly: it was much too late for this.

"What news do you bring me?"

"There's a visitor for you, sir!"

Kel'Thuzad and Arthas turned to one another in confusion.

"A visitor?"

/-/-/-/-/

Arthas marched down to the Great Doors, past the breach from three days ago (Which was nicely patched up now, by the way) and through the Hall of Entry (He briefly wondered why he didn't just have the soldiers attend to him or her, before deciding that he couldn't be bothered to call for them anyway), before ending right in front of the saronite-made hunks of metal. Kel'Thuzad, curious to who would possibly want to visit the Lich King, was propping right behind him, inquisitively looking at the doors.

He pulled the lever to open the doors.

Revealing a face he never wanted to see again.

"Sup, _Shorty_?"

He slammed the doors in Illidan Stormrage's face as quickly as they had opened before pushing against them with his two hands, enforcing the metal hunks with his own considerable strength.

"Kel, release the hounds." He commanded.

"Very good, sir."

**To Be Continued**

A/N: Episode 2, finished. Welcome back, Illidan.


End file.
